Stand-in Groom (13 page)

“What?” Johnny’s word was as soft as a breath.

She hesitated.

“Tell me what you wish.”

“Sometimes I wish I could have a physical relationship of that intensity now. At the time I didn’t fully appreciate it.”

“You can, you know.” His voice was just a whisper, just a caress. “
We
can.”

What was she doing, discussing the intimacies of her past sexual experiences with Johnny. Talk about playing with fire. “I should go. It’s getting late—we should both be in bed.”

Johnny didn’t say anything right away, and Chelsea felt her words seem to echo across the line:
we should be in bed
.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “We should definitely be in bed. Together. I think you probably know that I’ve been sitting here, listening to you take your bath, listening to you talk about your first lover, imagining the way you must look lying back in that tub—” He broke off, swearing softly. “I wasn’t going to say anything like this, but as long as I’ve started, I’ve got to tell you that I’ve been sitting here, wishing to God that I could walk in there, climb into that tub with you, and make you forget Benton Scott’s name. I want you so bad, Chelsea, I may not live through the night.”

His words sent a wave of desire pulsating through her, heat pooling sharply in her belly and between her legs. She gazed at herself in the mirror,
at all that bare skin reflecting the flickering candlelight. Her hair was slicked back, her face clean of makeup, making her look like a stranger. A naked stranger. A stranger who didn’t need to be careful about wanting someone too much.

“I wish I could show you,” Johnny murmured. “I wish I could walk into your room and show you just how much I want you.”

Chelsea gazed at the stranger in the mirror, who was gazing back at her. Her breasts were peaked with desire, her nipples tautly erect, enticingly sensitized, so that even the slight breeze blowing in through the open window was enough to make her shiver.

She could remember how it felt—the excitement, the need, of wanting something she knew she shouldn’t have. She remembered the total release of letting that wanting consume her completely.

“I want you, too, John,” she whispered, watching the woman in the mirror rub lotion down her arms and across her breasts.

Johnny drew in a ragged breath at her words. “Damn, I want to touch you.”

“I want you to touch me too.” In the mirror, the stranger’s chest was rising and falling rapidly with
every breath she took. And then she was sixteen again. Sixteen, and recklessly carefree. Now was all that mattered. Feeling good right
now
. She could barely believe the words that came out of her mouth. “John. We could unlock the door.” The door that adjoined their two rooms. They each could unbolt it from their own side, and …

His voice vibrated with his intensity. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

She didn’t hesitate. She only wanted. “Yes.”

He laughed, a short burst of amazement and disbelief. “Wow. You sound … convinced.”

“I am. Right now. But don’t make me think too hard about it.”

He took a deep breath. “I do want you to think hard about it. You made me promise—”

Chelsea didn’t want to think about legal complications. The naked stranger in the mirror wouldn’t give such things a second thought. Nor would her sixteen-year-old self. “I don’t care. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anybody.”

He was silent for a moment. “Are you serious?” When he spoke, his voice was thick with his own desire.

“Meet me at the door, okay?”

“More than Bent?” he asked, then quickly added, “Forget I asked that. I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“Yes.” She answered him anyway. “More than Bent. Meet me at the door, John. Please?”

“Oh, God,” he breathed, then took a deep breath. “Chelsea, I
promised
you we wouldn’t do this.” He took another deep breath. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay?”

“No! Not okay, I’ll meet you at the door. I meant, okay, I’ve figured out what we can … Look, just listen to me, all right?”

“I’m listening.”

“Put down the phone and go into the bedroom, and pick up the extension that’s next to the bed, okay? Then go and hang up the bathroom line. I’ll meet you back in your bed.”

“Don’t I have to unlock the—”

“No,” he said. “You don’t. Just do what I said, all right?”

Johnny took a fortifying swallow out of one of the bottles of beer he’d ordered more than an hour ago from room service as he waited for Chelsea to come back to the phone.

He stood up and paced, carrying the phone with him, and he found himself standing in the bedroom doorway, staring out into the darkened living room, at the private door that connected their two suites.

Chelsea wanted him. She wanted him to walk through that connecting door and make love to her. She was his wife, he was her husband. They were legally wed.

So what the hell was he doing, standing over here?

He wanted her so badly, he was in serious pain.

If she wanted him even half as much, she would be dying for his touch—just as he was dying for hers. He wished he had the strength to go through those doors and make love to her only with his hands and his mouth, but he knew if he got near her he wouldn’t be able to resist loving her completely. Those words he’d spoken in the restaurant were the truth. He wouldn’t be strong enough to stop himself from making love to her.

And if he did that, he would be breaking the promise he’d made to her. And tomorrow, when she woke up, the impact of what they’d done
would fracture the growing friendship between them, possibly destroying it beyond repair.

And he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

The truth was, he liked her. A lot. Enough to want more than just one night of incredible sex.

Enough maybe even to want a lifetime.

The thought caught him off guard, and he shook his head, pushing it away. He refused to think that way. Not about a woman who so clearly didn’t want
anyone
around forever.

“John?” Chelsea was back on the phone, her voice slightly breathless.

“I’m here,” he told her, turning his back on that door, walking back toward his bed.

“I know,” she said, her slightly husky voice thickened with desire. “But I want you over
here.”

“Lie down and close your eyes,” he told her. He could hear her pulling back the bedcovers, hear the rustling of the sheets. “Are your eyes closed?”

“Yes.”

“You know I can’t really be with you tonight, Chelsea,” he said quietly. “Not if I want to keep the promise I made to you. But you know I’d knock down this wall to get to you if I could.”

“John—”

“Shh. Just listen. Because the day that annulment comes through, well, I’m probably going to have to work that night, but after work, I’m going to come over to your place. I’ll have a key to let myself in, because by the time I get there, it’s going to be pretty late. You’ll be in bed already, just like you are right now. Maybe you’ll even be asleep.”

“No, I won’t.” Chelsea spoke with such certainty. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“You’re naked under the sheets,” Johnny told her, letting himself lie back on his bed, his feet still on the floor. If he closed his eyes, he could picture her all too clearly. “And I still have all my clothes on. I just stand there for a minute, looking down at you, you looking up at me, both of us knowing exactly what’s going to happen next.”

“And then I pull back the sheet,” Chelsea said.

Johnny smiled. He hadn’t been sure at first if she would be willing to play along, or if she’d simply want to listen to him talk. But it didn’t surprise him that she’d want to take an active part in this game. He felt a rush of heat and desire at the thought of her lying in her bed, willing to let him guide her so intimately.

“I’m still standing there, looking at you in the
moonlight. God! You’re so beautiful. I can’t believe you’re going to share yourself with me.”

“I sit up and reach for you. …”

Johnny groaned at the powerful visual images in his head. “I can’t keep from touching you any longer. So I sit down next to you, and I kiss you. Your skin is so soft and smooth—I’m touching you everywhere—I can’t get enough. Your back, your arms, your throat, your breasts—they fit in my hands so perfectly. Do you feel me touching you? You have to help me a little bit here, Chelsea. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

She was breathing harder, and he was too. Because now he had the fantasy
and
the reality to think about, and both were overwhelmingly erotic. He’d never done anything even remotely like this before. He’d never been one to spend time on words and talking when it came to making love. But right now all he could give Chelsea were his words and his voice. He was determined to give her as much pleasure as he could, and the words seemed to flow.

“I want to taste you, and you want it, too, so I do. I touch the very tip of your breast with my
tongue, very lightly—just a little. And then I look at you to see if you like the way that feels.”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed. “I like that.”

“So I do it again, and this time you want more, so you push yourself up, up into my mouth, and I
really
love that. And now I’ve got you in my mouth, sucking and pulling, tugging at you, and you taste so good, I think I’m gonna die. …”

“I want to take your clothes off,” Chelsea said, surprising him again by taking the lead. “Your clothes are getting in the way. I unfasten your jeans, pull down the zipper—it’s not easy to pull it down because you’re … you’re so hard.”

The sound of her voice, whispering those words in his ear was mind-blowing. “I am,” Johnny said, and it was true. “Chelsea, I am
so
hot for you. …”

He wanted her—in every way imaginable. He wanted to walk into a crowded room and know he’d find her waiting for him, smiling as he came closer, her smile telling of secrets shared and promises made.
Do you take this woman …?
Yes. Yes, he wanted to take her—and keep her. He wanted to make love to her, and to love her.

To love her … God help him, he was falling in love with his wife.

“You help me push down your jeans,” she murmured into his ear, “and God, you’re not wearing any shorts. There’s just your jeans … and you. I touch you, my fingers against your skin—do you feel me touching you?”

“Chelsea—”

“And then you reach for me, too, touching me. …”

She moaned, and Johnny could barely speak.

“Chelsea,” was all he managed to say.

“Yes …?”

Somehow, he had to get back into control. Somehow, he took a deep breath and brought the focus back to her. “I’m touching you,” he rasped. “You’re so soft … and hot. So smooth, like silk. I touch you lightly at first, then harder. Deeper.”

“Yeah …”

“It feels so good—you touching me that way”—his voice sounded harsh in his own ears, rough from his desire—“and me touching you. You push your hips up, against me—you want more.”

“Yeah …”

“And I want to get inside of you—”

“You are,” she said. “You’re on top of me, and
you’re inside me, and it feels
so good
, and we’re moving together and oh, John—”

He heard her cry out, and it pushed him over the edge. He heard her drop the phone, heard it bounce along the floor, heard it rocking slightly before coming to a rest.

And then there was silence. One minute stretched into two, two into three.

“Chelsea?” Johnny said when he could finally speak. “Are you all right?”

He heard a rustling sound, and then a scraping as the phone was probably pulled along the tile floor by its cord.

Then: “Hello?” She sounded out of breath.

“Hi,” Johnny said. “Are you okay?”

She laughed. “Yeah. I’m … extremely okay.”

He had to know. “Did you just …?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I wasn’t exactly planning to, but …”

“Oh, my God,” she said. “We just had phone sex.”

“It beats a cold shower,” he said. “No pun intended.”

Chelsea laughed. But when she spoke her voice
was softer. “What do you say to someone after you’ve had phone sex with them?”

“I don’t know,” Johnny admitted. “This is a first for me too.”

“You’re kidding. You must be a natural.”

“Oh, man, if anyone’s a natural, it’s you. You could make a fortune on one of those 900 lines.”

“No, thanks. I prefer the real thing.”

“Be patient. That’ll come in just a few more days.”

He could hear her smile. “No pun intended?”

Johnny smiled too. “No pun intended.”

He heard her sigh, heard the rustle of her sheets. “I really like you, John Anziano,” she said. “I can’t wait to jump your bones for real.”

He had to laugh. “I’m looking forward to that too—especially when you put it so romantically.”

“Good night, John.”

“Good night.” Johnny heard the click as the connection was cut. “I think I’m in love with you, Chelsea,” he added, knowing that he’d never dare say the words aloud if she were listening.

C
HELSEA SAT IN
the early-morning rush hour, waiting for the light to turn green, knowing that she had allowed herself more than enough time to battle the traffic and find a parking spot before her eight-thirty appointment with her lawyer. Shoot, she had enough time to leave her car right here and
walk
the last few miles to Tim von Reuter’s office, if need be.

No, the butterflies in her stomach weren’t from fear of being late. They weren’t even in anticipation of finally receiving the money from her grandfather’s trust.

They were from the thought of seeing Johnny again.

Johnny …

The driver behind her hit his horn, startling her out of her reverie and she put her car into gear and lurched forward through the green light.

It was hard to believe that just yesterday she and Johnny had been in St. Thomas. And the night before last …

God, she couldn’t let her mind stray in that direction. The thought of what she’d done—what
they’d
done—still made her cheeks heat with a blush. God, who would’ve ever thought she could feel the things that she’d felt?